


Professional

by Celia_and



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bodyguard, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, And she takes it, Ben calls Rey ma'am in bed, Bodyguard Ben Solo, Dominant Rey, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Hair-pulling, Hand Jobs, One Shot, Protective Ben Solo, Rey knows what she wants, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-02
Updated: 2020-01-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:27:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22078444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Celia_and/pseuds/Celia_and
Summary: When she introduces herself and shakes his hand with a surprisingly firm grip and smiles up at him with those dimples, he knows. About ten seconds in.Giving his life for hers? Yeah, that won’t be a problem.----------Ben is a new bodyguard trying his hardest to do well at his job and be professional. Rey doesn’t see any reason why he can’t do that and fuck her too.
Relationships: Kylo Ren/Rey, Rey/Ben Solo, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 95
Kudos: 1208





	Professional

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Профессионал](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22786780) by [Elafira](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elafira/pseuds/Elafira)



> [reylogarbagechute](https://archiveofourown.org/users/reylogarbagechute/pseuds/reylogarbagechute) made me this exquisite mood board and it's the sexiest thing I've ever seen. 🔥

It’s not easy, they warn him in training, being on a protective detail. It means obliterating the innate instinct to avoid danger – training his muscles to move toward the threat without waiting for permission from his brain. He thinks he can do it; he’s not a coward, and he’s physically disciplined. His body has always done what he tells it to do, and how different can this be, really? But still, the prospect of running toward an active shooter to sacrifice himself for some unknown protectee gives him pause.

His training is completed, and he’s assigned to a detail. He thoroughly studies the dossier of information about the protectee, a young tech entrepreneur who’s been getting death threats from some crazed stalker. _Rey Johnson._ The file doesn’t include a photo.

The agency arranges to introduce him to Rey on a Thursday morning, when she has ten minutes between meetings at a hotel conference center. She’s held up after the first meeting, and she arrives in the lobby flushed and breathless, seven minutes past the agreed-upon time. She’s profusely apologetic for the delay (and _dear God, she has a British accent)_ , and when she introduces herself and shakes his hand with a surprisingly firm grip and smiles up at him with those dimples, he knows. About ten seconds in.

Giving his life for hers? Yeah, that won’t be a problem.

* * *

She walks fast, and with a purpose. When she isn’t talking on the phone, she’s holding it, sending emails or buying stocks or maybe writing code or something – Ben isn’t exactly sure what a young tech entrepreneur does, because they didn’t put that in the dossier. She has the uncanny knack of being able to navigate the city sidewalks without glancing up from her phone, but Ben still points out curbs, just to be safe.

“Watch your step here, ma’am.”

“Ben, I’m like five years younger than you, please call me Rey.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Okay, see, you _say_ that, but…” Her phone rings, and she rolls her eyes and lets out a little huff for his benefit before answering it. And he’s definitely not looking at her, because that would be unprofessional when he’s supposed to be watching for potential threats, but he _may_ see her smile a little smile that he’s pretty sure has nothing to do with the phone call.

* * *

His shift is officially over at nine, when he sees her back to her apartment and does a sweep to make sure it’s clear before he leaves for the night.

One Tuesday night she decides to pack it in earlier than usual, and they get to her place around 8:30. He does the customary sweep room by room, making sure that she’s safe, and holds his breath when he checks her closet because it smells too much like her. (He learned that the hard way; the first time, he inhaled a lungful and got simultaneously light-headed and hard.)

When he gets back to the living room to give the all-clear, she’s kicked off her heels and is at the kitchen counter pouring a glass of wine.

“Want one?” she asks, holding up the glass for him to see.

“No thank you, ma’am. If there’s nothing else you need, I’ll head out.”

She sips the wine and takes a beat, considering him. “You know, I think it’s helpful for us to have a friendly relationship. There’s no harm in staying for a quick drink if you want to.”

He clears his throat. “Ma’am, I’m just trying to be professional.”

“Oh, I value your _professionalism_ ,” she says, lingering on the last word. “I need someone who can take care of me properly. Do you think you can do that, Ben?” She sets down the glass, not breaking eye contact, not even to blink, and all he can think is _fuck._

* * *

This is how it ends. He’s either going to die or be fired, and he doesn’t much care which as long as she doesn’t stop kissing him. They’re on the couch, where she pushed him down before straddling him, and her silk blouse has come mostly unbuttoned _(when did that happen?)_ , and her pencil skirt is hiked up almost to her hips so she can spread her knees wide enough to accommodate his thighs. She’d taken off his belt and unbuttoned his pants early on, but then they got sidetracked by each other’s mouths. His hands are on her back, pulling her into his chest, and her fingers are tangled in his hair, and he doesn’t care if nothing else happens, he could just kiss her all night and be in heaven. But then she snakes a hand down to his zipper and pulls it down sharply, then reaches through the opening in his boxers to pull out his cock. When she grasps him in her hand he realizes he was wrong; _this_ is heaven.

* * *

“What do you want, Ben?” she murmurs as she pumps him.

“I want to take care of you.”

“I want to take care of you, who?”

“I want to take care of you, _ma’am._ ”

* * *

It comes back to him in flashes, afterwards: the glide of his cockhead back and forth over her clit. How sopping wet she was when his finger breached her entrance. The way she pulled him into the bedroom and lay back on the bed and held out both arms to beckon him to join her. The exquisite pressure as she let him inside. The little bereft cry she made when he slipped out of her mid-thrust and had to reposition, and her wanton moan when he pushed back in. She was everything that was warm and good and soft, and he slid his arms between her back and the mattress and enveloped her body with his as he jerked into her. (“Do you like that, Ben?” she’d whispered, pulling his hair to bring his ear to her mouth. “Does it feel good?” _Yes, ma’am. Yes, ma’am._ )

* * *

In her last moments between wakefulness and sleep, he nudges her and scoots her over on the mattress, farther away from the door and window, and plants his broad back between her and the possible threats.

She drowsily mumbles something incoherent that might be “taking care of me.”

He gathers her in his arms and kisses her hair and waits until she falls asleep before he whispers, “Yes, Rey.”


End file.
